


Sudden Reversal

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: Mix Tape [9]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sudden Reversal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

A week before Flynn had brought Sodia home, Estelle had asked a favor of him and Yuri. She wanted to throw a birthday party for Rita and, as they were the only ones among her friends that lived in a place with a backyard rather than an apartment, she had wanted to host the party at their house. Always up for some fun, Yuri had green lit the idea immediately. Though Flynn was supposed to be performing that evening and the one before and would, therefore, not be able to attend, he didn’t mind either. He brushed off Estelle’s concerns and invited both of them to be his guests for the symphony the night before the party.

Estelle had given them plenty of warning, but Yuri found himself wishing it had been more of a last minute request. Even with a couple weeks to get ready, Flynn was eager for an excuse to crack down on housework. He pestered Yuri about the flotsam and jetsam left behind in the living room after jam sessions and writing binges. He vacuumed and swept and complained when Repede tracked dirt in from the backyard. He scrubbed the bathroom and conscripted Yuri when he decided that the house needed a good dusting.

Wiping down blinds with a wet paper towel, Yuri wondered why he put up with it. They still had five days to go. The house was only going to get dirty again. Judy and Karol were supposed to be over a couple more times before the party to work on some new material. There would be glasses and cans, papers, picks, and pencils, dusty paw prints and bits of gravel scattered all over the place in no time. The smart thing would have been to just let it all go until the day before, then clean everything up at once when entropy wouldn’t have enough time to settle in and make its presence known. Yuri didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Parties got messy; it was just the way of things. Besides, Estelle was more interested in their backyard. Most of the crowd wouldn’t be inside long enough to mind if the house looked lived in.

Flynn didn’t see it that way. He actually seemed to _enjoy_ cleaning. Standing next to Yuri, wiping down the blinds over the other living room window, he was smiling faintly and humming. Weirdo.

Not sure if anyone had ever pointed out how strange that was, Yuri felt it his duty to inform Flynn that he was, in fact, weird.

“Do chores always put you in such a good mood, or is there a special place in your heart for the hell that is dusting?”

He laughed a little, and Yuri had to look away from that stupid smile.

“It’s a good thing one of us has an appreciation for clean living. It surprises me sometimes that this place hasn’t been overrun by pests.”

“Depends on how you define ‘pest.’”

Flynn shoved him lightly, still smiling even as Yuri took a quick step sideways, knocking into him. “Enough. I’d like to get this done before dinner. I do need to practice some tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah. Curry sound good?”

“Wonderful.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “Have you always had an interest in cooking?”

His hand slowed its sweep over the blinds as he glanced at Flynn. Questions like that had been coming more and more often lately, questions about his hobbies and his past. Maybe it was just how Flynn got to know people. Most of Yuri’s friends were the type to accept him as he was presently and not pay any mind to who he might have been. In his mind, his life was divided into two parts: pre- and post-Niren. Only a few people knew him from before he’d gotten his shit together, but, by and large, his friends knew Yuri the musician, the amateur cook. They didn’t know Yuri the juvenile delinquent. He liked it that way, though he tried not to think too hard about what that said about him.

Pushing such thoughts away with a shrug, he turned back to his work. “Better than being stuck eating microwave meals.”

“It isn’t just that.” He sounded irritatingly sure of himself. “You enjoy cooking. Was it something Niren taught you, or—”

“Hey, you’ve got some dust on your face.” He swiped his dirt-encrusted paper towel over Flynn’s cheek, leaving a damp, gray smudge.

“Ugh, Yuri!” He tore off a clean paper towel to clean himself off with. “’No comment’ would’ve been a perfectly acceptable response.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Flynn decided to try again.

“That time we went to a party with Judy and Crash…you sang ‘Will the Circle be Unbroken.’ Where did you learn it?”

“I don’t remember.”

The look Flynn shot him was equal parts skepticism and exasperation, but his answer had been technically true. One of the first families that had fostered him had gone church shopping. He remembered them taking him along to some tiny service a couple weeks in a row. There hadn’t been forty people in the congregation, and he honestly couldn’t remember the name of the church or even where it had been located. He did remember it as being one of his earliest realizations about the power of music. Young or old, fully committed to the faith or still mostly clueless, when the music had started, everybody had joined in the singing. There had been a sense of community he’d found in song that hadn’t ever lasted the length of a service, and a feeling of joy, besides. There had been a certain freedom in singing, and, almost contrarily, a feeling of being tied to the people around him.

Though that song wasn’t one of the first pieces he’d learned to play, it held a special sort of importance to him through its symbolism. Music let him rise above his circumstances. Music let him connect to people. Those were the lessons he had taken away from his brief experience with religion.

He didn’t tell Flynn any of that. He probably could have. Flynn probably would have understood. Something held him back, though. He’d heard Flynn singing the song before. It held a different meaning for him and Yuri wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to go comparing those experiences. The idea of discussing things like that made him somehow apprehensive.

Looking for a distraction, he tried to concentrate on the task he’d been set. He deflected questions about his past, turning them aside with jokes or jabs or other questions. His relationship with Flynn still didn’t feel like it had set just yet, and that sense of flux coupled with questions about his past made him wary. He wondered idly if kissing him would shut him up. That sort of thing didn’t work with Crash, but Flynn was different. It might actually be effective against him.

The thought stayed in the back of his mind, a plaything of his imagination as he scrubbed dust from the last slats of the blinds. It wasn’t until he caught himself waiting for Flynn’s next question that he actually realized what he was considering. He threw the brakes on that train of thought and finished dusting as quickly as he could. Tossing his paper towel into the trash bag, he escaped into the kitchen. He needed to get his head on straight. He’d had a lot of really good reasons why they ought to remain strictly roommates or, at most, friends. Lately, however, it was getting harder and harder to remember what those reasons were.

\-------------

Estelle came over the next day. As the person who best knew Rita’s tastes and the designated chef, respectively, she and Yuri were in charge of putting together the menu. She’d brought recipe books and cards from home, and Yuri pulled his off the shelf and spread everything out on the dining room table where they could flip through their paired resources in search of ideas.

“This one looks good.” She pointed to a photograph of mini quiches and Yuri pulled the book over to take a closer look.

“You’ll have to run interference for me if I make those. Flynn will be in the kitchen trying to help. He doesn’t realize how bad he is at cooking.”

She took the book back and scanned a few more pages. Several long, quiet moments passed before she spoke again. “What about this one?”

He considered the recipe for pork topped with spiced pears. “I think it sounds good. Flynn wouldn’t like it much.” It was kind of funny, really. For a guy with no taste buds, he sure was picky about pairing sweet flavors with meat. He flipped to the next page, looking for something else.

“How are you two getting along?”

“Huh?” Where had that come from? “Fine. Why?”

“Well…it seems like everything is going all right now, but after what happened, I just wanted to be sure.”

“After _what_ happened?” Had Flynn told her about Sodia? That idiot hadn’t realized what was going on, but Estelle might have figured it out.

“After you overheard us talking on the phone. I’m sure that must have been a surprise.”

“Nah. I had him pegged as the bad boy type.”

Estelle giggled. “You’re about as bad as a box of puppies.”

“Hey!” He scowled at her, faking offense. Estelle might know better than to be fooled by the metalhead stereotype, but she hadn’t been part of his life pre-Niren. She didn’t know.

“Anyway, what I meant was that you didn’t have any idea about him until that morning.”

“You too?” Crash had implied the same: that he’d known about Flynn’s little crush long before it had been made apparent to Yuri. “Did everybody know?”

“I doubt it. He wasn’t all that obvious. It was just…the way he looked at you changed.”

“Are we talking about the same Flynn? Because the one I live with still glares daggers at me on a daily basis.”

“You still really haven’t noticed? Poor Flynn.”

He frisbeed a recipe card at her and she squeaked in protest before sending a few back his way. The scuffle distracted her from any further talk of Flynn, and they were able to get back to planning the menu once they’d picked up the scattered cards. At least, Yuri _tried_ to work on it. Estelle kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t at all sure what she was looking for, but he had the sinking feeling that he was letting her down.

The thought crossed his mind that she might be disappointed that he didn’t return Flynn’s feelings. Not normally one to play matchmaker, Estelle had nevertheless put the two of them together and _something_ had sparked. Yuri wasn’t altogether sure _what_ , but Flynn seemed to have decided all on his own that they had chemistry. Maybe Estelle wished Yuri felt the same because she just wanted them to be happy. Going from roommates to boyfriends wasn’t so easy, though. There were all sorts of things that could fuck up their living situation beyond repair. Flynn was a roommate. Not a boyfriend. There was no boyfriend. There wasn’t any need for one.

“How are things with Crash?”

“There aren’t _things_ with Crash. There’s Crash, and there are things, and sometimes they overlap.” He wasn’t sure where this sudden interest in his sex life was coming from, but he wanted off the subject _immediately_. “How are things with Rita?”

She lit up at that, rosy and eager. Yuri barely hid a wince as he recognized something of Flynn in her expression. He’d seen a similar look directed his way. Was that what she’d meant when she’d said the way Flynn looked at him had changed? Damn. It was much easier to recognize when that expression wasn’t focused right on him. Estelle was clearly in love, and Flynn…Flynn was trouble in an entirely different way from what Yuri had expected when he’d first moved in.

Things were more serious than he’d thought.

\--------------------

Flynn wasn’t wrong when he talked about how an orchestra had a way of breathing life into a piece of music. It was rich and airy by turns, and vibrant in a way that always surprised Yuri anew when he attended a live symphony. The experience was like being adrift in a phantom sea, buffeted by shifting, restless waves, surrounded and buoyed by music. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, discarding the sight of the orchestra and the sense of people sitting to either side of him. Sitting there in his self-imposed isolation, the music washed over him, palpable and potent.

Briefly, he wished that his hearing hadn’t been so dulled over the years. Usually, he barely noticed, but with his immersion came the reminder that the sound would be sharper, clearer to other members of the audience. He let a wash of humming notes from the string section carry the thought away like a piece of mental flotsam.

Everyone present knew the course of the songs, but it was the difference between seeing the oncoming swell of a wave and being swamped by it. He basked in the feeling of being surrounded so entirely while remaining completely untouched. The air was thick enough with music that, dreamlike, he imagined being able to float away through it. He loved that feeling.

That evening, the concert hall resounded with contemporary pieces. Well-known themes from movies had replaced the compositions of the old masters for a night, an attempt at drawing a younger crowd, perhaps, or maybe simply an exercise in playing different types of music. Yuri didn’t mind either way. The pieces played for this performance had their own history and their own strengths, and they’d been granted new life, the familiar remade through the instruments of the orchestra and the people who had come together to forge something singular out of disparate elements.

There was something incredible about the knowledge that an assembly of individuals, each with their own unique talents and thoughts and quirks, had been able to create something so much bigger than themselves, something that reached out and touched the audience and connected them all. It was a feeling he recognized from as far back as when he’d been young enough to be considered worth fostering. It was the power of music, and it flowed into him with every breath, poured into his ears to fill him up until it seemed his heart was afloat in his chest and trembling with the rumbling current of the melody.

It was still a wonder to him, sometimes, how thoroughly music could saturate him, insinuating itself effortlessly into the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the very cells that built him up. The notes filled the world, as enormous as stars, as microscopic as the molecules of an atom, and he wondered if those old ponderers hadn’t been on to something with that ‘music of the spheres’ business.

Relaxing back against his seat, he thought of Flynn. Did he let himself dissolve into the music? Did he give himself over to the wild ride of a performer’s high, or did he try to rein in that energy, control it until it passed on and left him drained and quiet the way he had been at dinner that night after Yuri had first attended one of his concerts?

Curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes and found Flynn almost immediately, that spiky hair of his like a starburst under the fierce lights. Eyes closed, smile stretched wide, he stood unusually still amid his black clad fellows. The few times that the two of them had played together, Flynn had loosened up and moved and swayed with the music. Here, now, he was reserved about how he displayed the mastery of his playing, but that same joy was there. Yuri knew that feeling and understood it. He watched Flynn, waiting for the moment when he would open his eyes at the end of the piece, irises startlingly blue, even beneath the bleaching effects of the lights.

\------------------

Estelle had brought a bouquet for Flynn. She picked it up at the coat check along with her lacy, white duster, then she and Yuri stepped aside to chat while they waited.

“I’m glad you let me do your hair. It looks nice like that.” She reached out to run a finger lightly over the braid that hung over his shoulder, and he wondered briefly if her definition of nice had more to do with ‘theater appropriate’ or ‘human dress-up doll,’

“You have everything you need for the party tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll be over at ten to set up. Is that still okay?”

“Why so early? You don’t trust me to have gotten everything cleaned up properly?”

He grinned at her through the trick question. The house was clean, but only because Flynn had kept up with it. Estelle smiled back and hit him lightly on the arm with her purse. Behind them, someone cleared their throat and they turned to see Flynn, violin case held on one side, Sodia accompanying him on the other. It seemed she’d heard he was performing and had bought herself a ticket, then went straight to find Flynn as soon as the show was over. As the girls were introduced, Yuri, made freshly aware by the conversation he’d had with Estelle over the recipe books, caught Flynn sneaking glances at him. It didn’t escape Sodia’s notice, either, judging by the glare she shot him. Yuri ignored her and clapped Flynn on the shoulder.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be a _classical_ violinist.”

It took him a moment to get it, then he smiled brightly over the flowers. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

“Not what I expected, but pretty cool. When’s your next—”

“Can you believe that?”

Both of them turned to look at Sodia, who brushed at her pristine black dress and crossed her arms over her chest. She indicated a group of teenagers dressed in jeans and t-shirts with a jerk of her chin.

“It’s ridiculous how people can’t even be bothered to dress up properly when they attend a symphony. They might as well have shown up in a food service uniform.”

She looked Yuri straight in the eye for that last bit, and smiled thinly. Estelle and Flynn exchanged uncomfortable looks, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, Flynn tried—clumsily—to change the subject.

“So, where should we go for dinner?”

“What about—”

Sodia actually interrupted Estelle, stepping right past her to address Flynn directly. “There’s one place I’ve really been wanting to try. Why don’t we go to the Atria?”

Again, there was a quick exchange of uncomfortable looks. It was almost funny that Flynn and Estelle couldn’t see through Sodia’s ploy. A restaurant she’d been wanting to try. Right. Sure. And mathcore was a genre Yuri’d been meaning to look into.

“We can’t go there, actually.” Flynn sounded a little too relieved, and Yuri wondered what excuse he’d come up with. “The Atria has a dress code. Yuri would need a dinner jacket. Maybe another ti—”

“Why don’t you just lend me yours?”

The expression Flynn made almost set Yuri laughing, but he managed to hold back and fix a smirk on his face.

“I don’t….”

“You brought a change for after the show, right? Just stick with what you’ve got and loan me your spare. We’ll ask them for a bib for you, if you’re worried about staining your fancy tux.”

“I…suppose.” Flynn glanced uncertainly at Sodia, maybe hoping that she would change her mind at the last minute. When she remained silent, he took a step away from the group. “I need to change my undershirt, at least. Give me a few minutes. I left my things in one of the rooms backstage.”

He hurried off, leaving Yuri and the two girls to make strained conversation in his absence. Luckily, Sodia’s phone went off and she excused herself, stepping away to answer. As soon as she was out of earshot, Estelle gave Yuri her full attention.

“Are you sure you don’t mind going in to work on your night off? I know you’re going as a customer, but….”

“It’s fine. It’ll be nice to have a chance to grab a meal there and relax afterward for once.”

Soon enough, Flynn was back. He had his hands full between his violin, the bouquet, and his garment bag and he handed most of it off to Estelle before holding out his dinner jacket by the lapels. If he hadn’t caught Sodia looking, Yuri would have just taken the jacket and put it on by himself. Not in the mood to overlook a little payback, however, he allowed Flynn to hold it up as he slipped his arms into the sleeves, smirking as he felt hands smoothing down wrinkles over his shoulders.

Flynn stepped around in front of him, oblivious to Sodia’s jealous stare, and continued making little adjustments, brushing away bits of lint only apparent to him and tugging the hem and lapels to be sure everything lay right. He met Yuri’s eyes for just a second too long and blushed as he stepped away. Obviously, Yuri hadn’t been the only one with ulterior motives. Flynn’s hands had been quick and gentle, alighting on his body like birds and fluttering swiftly on from one spot to the next. It hadn’t been at all like the normal contact that passed between them, and Yuri couldn’t help wondering how long he would have lingered without an audience, without that bit of eye contact that had reminded him that they were nothing more than roommates.

They split up outside the concert hall, each heading back to the vehicles they’d arrived in and planning to meet up at the Atria. Estelle had picked Yuri up and, as they walked to her car, Yuri’s mind kept returning to the feel of hands fussing with his clothes. He wondered how Flynn would touch him, given the chance: if he would be gentle or if he was the type to get rough in the bedroom. Yuri was betting on rough. He realized he was grinning at the thought and stopped before Estelle could catch him at it and ask awkward questions. Flynn was just a roommate, he reminded himself, not a fuck buddy.

But why not? They fought regularly and got along just fine—better even than when Flynn had been trying to hold back all his anger and be civil. Would sex make such a difference? It hadn’t been an issue with Crash…but then, Crash made a habit out of avoiding issues.

The question sat in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening, and he watched Flynn surreptitiously, wondering if it could be worth it to open that particular Pandora’s box.

\-------------------

After dinner, Yuri rode home with Flynn. He watched Estelle leave as Sodia reluctantly left Flynn’s side after extracting a promise that he would show her around the city on Sunday. All too soon, the girls were gone, leaving him to slide reluctantly into the passenger seat of Flynn’s car with an unsettled feeling slithering through his gut. The petty revenge on Sodia was over, the curiosity about Flynn’s proclivities had faded. All that was left was the feeling Yuri got when he knew he stood at a crossroads. It was a little like standing at the very edge of a stage, knowing that he could throw himself forward and hope to be caught by the crowd, or that he could stay right where he stood and not have to place his trust in anyone but himself. Flynn was a temptation, an unknown, and Yuri laughed at himself to think that he’d believed he’d had the giant question mark sitting beside him in the car figured out weeks ago.

He should have ordered dessert. He wanted something sweet.

“You and Sodia seemed to get along pretty well. I thought she might have been embarrassed by what she’d said back at the theater, once she saw the other waiters. Thank you for being civil about it.”

“Why shouldn’t I have been? There something wrong about working in food service?”

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

He smiled tightly as he eyed Flynn sideways. Sodia and he hadn’t gotten along. The debates they’d had over dinner had been nothing but verbal sniping, the volleys of point and counterpoint barbed and dripping with scorn.

It had been obvious enough to Estelle, but she’d always been more than usually empathetic. When Sodia and Yuri’s arguing had gotten to be too much for her, she’d forcibly changed the subject, although Yuri couldn’t say that had made things much better.

The only thing that three quarters of the group had in common was Flynn, and the discussion had switched over to the good old days they’d had together back in high school. Yuri was left sitting mostly quiet on the sidelines. He didn’t know the people they were talking about, and most of his own stories from those years weren’t the same tone as the anecdotes Flynn and Estelle laughed over. Sodia gloated quietly, taking pleasure in chatting up Flynn about things Yuri couldn’t comment on. She had monopolized him through most of the meal. Flynn hadn’t even noticed, the idiot.

“Do you….” Flynn trailed off and Yuri watched his hands on the steering wheel, how they slid over the smooth curve, how they flexed with the changing force of his grip. “When you argue with other people, is it always like that? The way you were with Sodia, I mean. And with Crash.”

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.” He slumped and stared out the window. Did it really look the same, to him?

“You don’t…. When you argue with them, you don’t get mad. Estelle told me the same thing, once. When you and I fight, though….”

“What can I say? I guess you bring out the worst in me.”

That hadn’t been fair. Yuri _enjoyed_ being able to cut loose with Flynn, and he knew it went both ways. Better to push him away, though, he thought as he caught the little frown, the tightening grip on the wheel. Easier if he would get over his little crush and settle for just being the roommate. Yuri couldn’t possibly be what Flynn was really looking for, and Yuri just plain wasn’t looking. He watched the streetlights wink past.

“Is there anything else we need for the party tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Anything we need to pick up before going home?”

_Why are you trying to drag this out?_ He shook his head and pulled off the jacket Flynn had helped him into earlier. It got tossed into the backseat, bundled up around all the strange little ways his traitorous mind kept comparing the evening to an awkward date.

Flynn slowed to a stop at a light. There was a Burger King up ahead. “You want a shake?”

_Really_ should have gotten dessert at the restaurant. “…Yes.”

He was a little worried that they’d be parking and going in. The last thing he wanted was to be sitting in a deserted fast food joint with Flynn just then. Thankfully, they pulled into the drive through lane. Flynn ordered a soda and a shake and paid for both of them, despite Yuri’s protests. The relief of staying in the car was short lived, as Flynn drove around and parked, actually shutting off the engine to signal that they wouldn’t be leaving in a hurry. Yuri stabbed his straw down into his shake and sucked. The sugar made him feel a little better.

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” Flynn said quietly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Any time.” He wondered if music filled Flynn up the same way it did him, and decided that it must.

“I know it isn’t what you normally listen to.”

Yuri sighed and took a long sip of his shake. The car felt too small, and he was sick of being judged over his music. “I don’t remember the name of the church where I first heard that song.”

“Huh?”

“A few days ago, you asked me where I’d learned ‘Will the Circle be Unbroken.’ I wasn’t exactly lying when I said I didn’t remember. I couldn’t tell you what the church was called, or where it was, or even what denomination it was. All I remember about it is that song.”

_Not exactly the music I normally listen to, is it?_

“You used to attend service with your family?”

“With _a_ family.” Flynn didn’t pursue the correction, though Yuri was certain it would only be a matter of time until his curiosity got the better of him. “It was like that night at the party, out on the porch. That’s my religion. Music.”

He looked away out through the window and up at the fluorescent-lit, matte black of the sky. He felt silly saying it out loud. It wasn’t a thought he’d ever voiced before, more a truth he carried in the center of his chest, the place where music hummed right through him, the place where he figured his soul ought to be. He jabbed his straw around in his shake and took another long drink.

“The church of metal?”

Glancing over, he saw that Flynn was smiling softly. No offence meant. Not doubting him, only teasing a little. He smiled back.

“I like to think I’m largely nondenominational.”

Metal was his preferred genre of expression, of creativity, of connection, but he’d seen community forged time and again through all sorts of different kinds of music. Anything that brought people together held a special kind of power, something close enough to spiritual that Yuri no longer bothered differentiating. Music made people human.

“I’ll save you a ticket next time, too, then.”

“Cool.”

He meant it. He meant it with real gratitude, and he wanted Flynn to know that. He wanted Flynn to know that any music made with heart in it, with passion and a will to connect with people, really meant something to him. He wanted Flynn to know how he’d felt that evening, sitting in the audience with the music all around him and within him, and he wanted to be right when he thought that Flynn felt the same when he listened.

He didn’t know how to say all that, though, and he washed away any thoughts of trying with a long sip of his shake.

They sat and finished up their drinks and complained about how big projects and papers for different classes were always due at the same time because of how the semester was broken down. Weighty subjects were set aside and things were easy between them, relaxed. Yuri only wished that he didn’t have to keep telling himself that that was the way it ought to be.

He’d decided to let Flynn move in based on Estelle’s recommendation, Repede’s approval, and his own gut instinct. Now, though it sure as hell wasn’t ideal, he’d found that he liked having Flynn around. Not only that, but Yuri didn’t know anybody else in need of a place to stay that he would trust enough to let move in. He’d worked hard to have a roof over his head, and he wasn’t sure the risk of fucking that up was worth changing where things stood between himself and Flynn. He’d seen too many people that had been locked out of their apartments or gotten home to find that an angry ex had stolen or slashed up their furniture. Flynn wasn’t that type, but Yuri knew that when breakups went bad, they got nasty. He didn’t want to deal with that apparent inevitability. He didn’t want to end up hating Flynn.

\--------------------

…thrumming guitar, the chords of the bass revving like a false start before gaining purchase and taking off, catching up to the drums and pacing them, now racing, now falling back….

Yuri woke from a dream with music on his mind, the melody running through his brain and spilling out his ears to fade away in the early morning darkness. He had to capture it, pin it down, and he groped for one of the pens he kept on the windowsill above his bed, half blind with only the ambient light of a suburban night to guide him. Almost as soon as he had pen in hand, he was writing, scribbling frantically on the wall. Notes, phrases—he managed to salvage the tail end of the composition from his waking dream, anchoring it with ink on dingy, chipping paint. Old Scratch was barely within reach, and he hauled the guitar out of its case. He had a starting point, enough to build from consciously.

Reaching for his amp, he caught sight of his alarm clock and the time. Three twenty-three. Flynn would have a fit if Yuri woke him.

He played without the amp, building up the dulled notes in his mind from experience and imagining the way they would sound when played properly. Pausing every now and again, he added to the song inscribed on the wall. He drummed with his pen on the windowsill and panes—a poor excuse for Karol’s drumming—and hummed a baseline, slurring together the notes that would be Judy’s part in Dragon Swarm’s new song. In seemingly no time at all, he had fashioned a skeletal framework for the entire piece, held together here and there with ligament riffs and bass muscles. When he had enough put together that it could stand on its own and was no longer in any danger of fading away against the coming dawn, he set Old Scratch aside and rubbed his suddenly aching neck.

A glance at the clock told him that nearly two hours had passed and he sighed, knowing he would have to put off working any further. Later on, he could flesh it out, give it some life and some bite. Old Scratch went back into its case, and Yuri hunkered down under the covers, suddenly weary as if his burst of REM sleep-inspired creativity had siphoned off all the energy he’d have stored up from what little rest he’d gotten. Songs didn’t usually come to him in flashes like that and, as he drifted off, he wondered if it was Flynn’s fault: if something from the concert had triggered it, or if he’d dredged up something with his questions about the past….

\--------------------

He was running through darkness, heart pounding like Karol’s drums, but it wasn’t enough; he couldn’t breathe. His feet slipped, and, when he reached out to catch himself, the surface that met his hand was soft and yielding. The light filtering in was deep red and palpable, and what little air he could suck into his lungs was unbearably hot and humid. Somebody grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Yuri tried to turn, but he couldn’t pull his arm back to get in a decent first hit, there was something pressing in behind him and his legs were caught….

“Rise and shine, sleepy head.”

“Estelle?”

Blinking away the blurriness, he saw that it had only been his friend pulling him up out of a bad dream. With a sigh, he sagged back into the tangle of sheets he’d nearly pulled from his mattress as he slept. Morning streamed in through his window, the light white and cool, and he breathed deeply as his heart calmed.

Estelle stood up, beaming expectantly down at him. Behind her hovered Flynn, sheepish and uncertain.

“I’m here to set up for the party. Come on. I need your help, too. Time to get up and get dressed!”

He groaned something that she must have taken for agreement, because she left the room. Flynn watched her go, then took a couple steps closer and spoke softly.

“I’m sorry. I know you were up late working on a song.”

 “Mm?” He glanced at the clock, forgetting the numbers immediately. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know.”

It was too early for the amount of fondness in that smile, and Yuri groaned as he rolled over onto his stomach.

“Don’t go back to sleep. She’ll only come wake you up again.”

He gave Flynn a thumbs up, just to get him to leave, and waited until he heard the sound of receding footsteps and the quiet click of his door. With a single, resigned ‘fuck’ muttered into his pillow, he forced himself to get up and get ready.

\--------------------

Most of the day of Rita’s birthday party passed in a blur. Originally, Yuri had thought that ten in the morning was far too early to be making the sorts of preparations Estelle wanted, but getting everything set up just right took longer than he’d expected. For one thing, she enlisted Flynn’s help to pick up some folding tables that she hadn’t been able to fit in her car. Yuri took advantage of the time they were gone to get showered, which woke him up a little bit, and have some coffee and a bit of breakfast, which mostly finished the job. By the time they made it back, he felt like a functional human being again. Good thing, because Flynn and Estelle both decided that it was their job to boss him around.

Yuri spent the next few hours thoroughly cleaning house under Flynn’s direct supervision and helping to set up the backyard according to Estelle’s instructions. She’d brought over a party tent, which she set up just outside the back door. The tables were arranged beneath it and set with decorative jar candles that would ward off bugs. Yuri helped her hang patio lights from the center of the tent out towards its four corners. There weren’t many chairs, but she’d brought picnic blankets to spread on the lawn, along with paper plates and napkins, and plastic cups and flatware.

Somehow, between the two of them, he found time to make a few preparations for the food. They’d settled on chicken and vegetable kebabs as well as mini burgers—small, snacky foods that would be quick to cook. Yuri had agreed to man the grill, and he was eager to get as much of the prep work as possible out of the way. He mixed up the ground beef with spices, fresh minced garlic, and Worcestershire sauce, then portioned out and formed patties, which he carefully stacked in wax paper before sealing up and putting them in the fridge. He washed carrots and celery and broccoli for a vegetable and dip tray. There would be radishes, too, but they would have to wait. He wanted to cut them into roses—Estelle would like that—and it would be best to do that shortly before the guests began arriving at four.

Dessert would be parfaits—easy enough to put together, and people could add what they wanted. He washed berries and cut up pineapple. He cubed the sheet cakes he’d made—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. He mixed up a batch of fresh whipped cream and put it in the fridge to chill. Estelle had brought nuts, chocolate candies, and coconut, which would be set out in bowls when it came time for the guests to build their desserts.

There were a million tiny details. Between cleaning, arranging, prep work, and all the little tasks each of those involved, the day flew by. Before Yuri knew it, Flynn was getting ready to leave for his concert. He’d been worried about his car getting blocked in and had planned to leave shortly before the guests were set to arrive. Yuri heated up the grill early and fixed him a couple sliders and a kebab, since he hadn’t noticed Flynn take the time for a proper meal amid all that was going on.

“Sit down and eat,” Yuri ordered.

He’d caught Flynn trying to sweep the dining room—which didn’t need it—and he shoved the plate of food at him and practically pushed him into a chair. As Yuri returned to the kitchen to begin making the radish rosettes, Flynn looked at the plate in his hands, visibly surprised for a moment, before he smiled and settled down to eat.

“It’s very good. Thank you.”

Yuri waved off the compliment. “Can’t have you collapsing on stage.”

“How’s your song coming?” The question was slightly muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Hm?” He’d swiped a beer from one of the coolers out back and opened it up to take a drink.

“The one you were working on this morning.”

“Oh. Bare bones right now. I think it’ll shape up pretty well, though.” He finished up a rosette and tossed it into an empty section of the vegetable platter. “How do you like that set you’ve been playing?” When he glanced up, Flynn was smiling around a mouthful of kebab. The answer was a moment in coming.

“It’s…a little different. The pieces don’t feel the same, but there’s still power in the music. The audience seems to like it. We’ve had a bigger turnout for this show.”

“Still getting a message across?”

“I’m not sure about that. The music we’ve been playing is expressive, but…it’s out of context.”

“Sometimes you gotta learn to just sit back and enjoy it.”

“You want your songs to speak to people. It’s the same for me.”

He smiled. Flynn had him, there. “Do you write music, too?”

Again, there was a pause before the answer. This time, it was because Flynn was choosing what to say.

“I’ve tried. I’m not very good at it so far, although there is one I’ve been working on….”

“Yeah?”

“When it’s finished…will you let me play it for you?”

“I get to be the first to hear it? Absolutely!”

Flynn looked more pleased by that than Yuri really thought he should have, but in the next second, he checked his watch and was suddenly hurrying to get up from the table.

“I’ve got to finish getting ready. Thank you for the food.”

He stuffed the last half a slider into his mouth and threw away his empty paper plate before disappearing into his room and leaving Yuri to finish his work and his drink. Flynn left soon after, just before guests began arriving and Yuri was pulled into the role of host. Time sped up again as he chatted or sent guests along to the backyard where snacks waited and gifts would be opened later. He had a bit of fun when Rita arrived, and he got to escort her through the house and announce her to a round of cheers and ‘Happy birthday!’s from the growing crowd. Her face went bright red. She socked Yuri in the side and went to go find Estelle.

By the time most everyone had arrived, it was time to begin cooking up some real food, and Yuri took up his station at the grill. Karol and Judy hung around to chat for a bit, and Crash wandered over to say hello and toss back a few jell-o shots with him. He wanted to know if Yuri would be heading over to his place after the party, but Yuri turned him down, He said it was because he was already beat, which was _true_ , but not the truth. Crash knew something was up, but he didn’t push. He never did. He just wandered off into the small crowd. Later on, when Yuri saw him chatting up a good-looking redhead, he silently wished him luck. Maybe in a few days they’d hook up again. For the time being, however, Crash was on his own.

When the hungry crowd had mostly settled in to eat and socialize, Yuri retreated to the kitchen. He could hear Karol drumming away in the living room. He’d attracted a few fans, and Yuri smiled to himself as he raided the parfait supplies and fixed himself some dessert. Estelle would be wanting all the fixings brought out to one of the tables set up out back soon, but Yuri could feel his sleepless night catching up with him. The sugar helped, though not much, and he decided that, once things were set up for people to make their own parfaits, he was going to take a nap. The party would carry on just fine without him and, if he slept through the end of it, Flynn could sort out the last of it when he got back.

It took him longer than expected to keep that promise to himself. He ended up having another beer while he stuck around to be sure that the fruit and nuts didn’t run out, and even ended up making a second batch of whipped cream, yawning all the while. When he was certain that everyone had been fed and that he wouldn’t be missed, he slipped back inside.

The light was on in his room, and someone had closed the door. He would have walked right in on whoever it was, except he recognized Estelle’s voice just in time.

“…you to have a happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to go this far for something so simple. You just made a lot of extra work for yourself.”

“It’s been fun, though, right? You looked like you were enjoying the party.”

“I-it was all right.”

“Happy birthday, Rita.”

They went quiet then, and Yuri could too easily imagine why they’d stopped talking. He smiled a little, then covered a yawn as he walked away. Estelle wouldn’t get too carried away in his room, so he figured he could trust them with a little privacy.

Yuri was about to open Flynn’s door when Crash stepped out of the bathroom. He paused, watching Yuri for a moment before speaking up.

“Hey, man…you doing okay?”

“Up late working on a song.” He yawned again, almost missing Crash’s response.

“All week?”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Nodding, Yuri watched him head back to the party. Sleep was calling. He let himself into Flynn’s room and flopped down onto the bed. Flynn could kick him out when he got home that evening.

\--------------------

When he first started to wake up, Yuri wasn’t sure where he was. He groaned softly, curling in tight under the covers, and the sound that had pulled him out of his sleep, the wood on wood sound of a chest of drawers, stopped. Not his bed. Rummaging through drawers. Had to be Crash’s house.

“Crash.” He yawned hugely and felt his jaw pop. “Coffee.”

There was a pause long enough for him to wonder if he ought to bother asking again or simply go back to sleep, then he heard Flynn’s voice.

“Crash went home last night.”

_Oh, shit._ Yuri went very still under the blanket, trying frantically to remember what had happened last night and how he had ended up in Flynn’s bed. He hadn’t had _that_ much to drink and he was pretty sure he’d headed for his own room when he’d started feeling tired. So, why had he…? Oh. Oh, right. His room had been occupied.

Smiling, he relaxed. Nothing had happened. Damn. That would have been the perfect excuse.

Too many thoughts like that, lately. Probably ought to go.

Snuggling a little deeper into his cozy nest, he risked peeking out from beneath the covers. Flynn was bare-chested and still wearing yesterday’s jeans. It made for a pleasant sight first thing in the morning. He pulled on an undershirt and the thin fabric, the way its shadows hinted at the very nice body beneath was, if anything, somehow even more enticing.

Throwing back the covers, Yuri stretched. Through half-lidded eyes, he caught Flynn staring. It was several long seconds before those baby blues traveled all the way up his body to meet his smirk, and Flynn turned away pretty damn quick when he saw that he’d been caught. Such a Boy Scout.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like my room back. I need to get dressed.”

“No one’s stopping you.” He shifted to get a better view. Turnabout was fair play…not that he necessarily believed in playing fair.

“Yuri….”

“You could join me, instead.”

Flynn went very still, watching him closely. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Yuri grinned. He wasn’t suggesting anything Flynn hadn’t already thought about. It was just that it seemed like maybe letting things get a bit more interesting between them wouldn’t be the disaster he’d originally figured it would be.

He took a step forward, then hesitated. “What about Crash?”

“What about him?”

Rolling back into the mound of pillows, Yuri stared up at the ceiling. Crash was a good friend, but as far as fuck buddies went, he was kind of boring. He didn’t like playing rough, and Yuri was pretty sure that if he ever actually lost his temper and took a swing at Crash that that’d be it for them. Flynn might be the best of both worlds. He enjoyed their fights and he was interested. Be nice to have someone he didn’t have to hold back with, and he really was getting sick of holding back.

“Get out of my room.”

The chilly tone of his voice was completely unexpected. When he looked over, Flynn had turned away. The sudden change was startling and he sat up, wondering if he’d somehow misjudged the situation. He’d thought Flynn was still interested. He’d sure looked that way a minute ago.

“Don’t tell me you were just window shopping this whole time.”

“I asked you to leave.”

Flynn still wasn’t turning around, and Yuri hopped off the bed, yanking his shirt back down over his stomach. Not sure what had gone wrong, he racked his brain trying to figure out what had happened. They’d been getting along. He hadn’t honestly pissed Flynn off for some time. So, why the rejection?

He’d almost made the door, when he heard Flynn mutter: “I thought you were better than that.”

The words stopped him in his tracks. If Flynn was looking for a fight, he was going to get one. Yuri had no qualms about obliging him when he was so obviously asking for it. He turned slowly, curling his fingers into loose fists at his sides.

“You want to run that by me again?”

“You heard me. Will anyone do, as long as it’s convenient?”

Yuri rushed him. Flynn was only just turning around and half caught the wild charge, swinging them around to slam Yuri up against the wall and knock the wind out of him. After that, it didn’t take much for Flynn to shove him halfway across the room and come barreling into him while he was still off balance. Yuri went stumbling backward out into the hall where he fell, cracking the back of his head against the wall opposite the door.

For a moment, Flynn loomed over him, barely even breathing hard. “Stay out of my room,” he said, and slammed the door shut. Yuri winced as the lock clicked into place, and he gingerly rubbed the back of his head as he got to his feet.

“Asshole!”

He’d thought that Flynn had gotten over his bout of the crazies. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

“What the _fuck_ was that about?” he muttered, heading for his room, “Asshole.”

He dropped down onto the edge of his bed, but couldn’t bring himself to lie down and go back to sleep. He was filled with a nervous, jittery energy that burned beneath his skin. His hands were shaking.

The words kept running through his head. _Anyone, as long as it’s convenient?_ It was impossible to push them away, and he surged to his feet to pace the confines of his room. He’d been called a lot worse by a lot of worse people in the past, and he’d always shrugged it off or beat the crap out of whoever had been tossing insults his way. The implication in Flynn’s question shouldn’t have gotten any more than a laugh out of him. He shouldn’t have lost his cool like that. He should have been able to cast the unspoken accusation aside like it didn’t matter.

It _didn’t_ matter.

It didn’t.

Snatching his wallet and keys off his desk, he stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t bother with his helmet, and he slammed the front door shut on his way out, and the storm door, too, for good measure.

Fuck Flynn, anyway. What the hell did he know? Probably saving himself for marriage or something, like the good little Boy Scout he was.

“Asshole.”

Revving the engine of his motorcycle, he peeled out in a small spray of gravel. He hoped it dinged the hell out of Flynn’s perfect little shiny car.

\----------------

There was a gas station where Yuri often left his motorcycle when he just wanted to wander the streets of downtown Zaphias or take a walk through the park. The old man behind the counter raised an eyebrow when he bought a bottle of hard lemonade that early in the day, but didn’t say anything. Wasn’t worth his time to, anyway. Yuri had baked cakes with more alcohol in them. Outside, he popped the cap off and took a sip, noticing as he did a customer at one of the pumps with a unique hairstyle. Sodia was filling up her Jeep. She slotted the nozzle back into place and closed up her gas tank as Yuri paused on his way past.

“Going to visit Flynn? If you hurry, you might be able to convince him to run away with you.”

Eying the bottle in his hand, she sneered. “I can’t believe he even associates with someone like you.”

“No need to get nasty. It’s not my fault I’ve got a better shot at getting into his pants than you do.”

Sodia didn’t raise a hand to slap him; she came at him with a mean right hook. Yuri fell back a step and the lemonade sloshed out over his hand. He turned her next punch aside and grabbed her wrist on the third. It was tricky with the bottle in his hand, but he managed to twist her arm up behind her. He had one brief moment of satisfaction before she threw her head back, bashing her skull against his nose.

The lemonade dropped to the pavement as he shoved her away and stumbled back, hands flying up to cover his bleeding nose. Somebody grabbed him from behind, restraining rather than helping, and he lashed out before looking. He’d barely missed decking a surprised looking cop, and the guy’s partner—a regrettably familiar face who was doubtless thrilled to have an excuse to lay into him—was only a step behind. Behind him, he heard the slam of a car door and the rumble of an engine as the cops roughly handcuffed him and hustled him off toward their squad car. They didn’t even pretend to consider going after Sodia, just read him his rights as blood dripped freely over his mouth and chin.

 


End file.
